Insurmountable
by dbluewillow
Summary: Alone and outnumbered, Agent 3 finds herself the target of an explosive conspiracy. The fearless operative has spent years running covert operations and killing with impunity, all in an effort to protect Inkopolis. But even within the city, some believe the time has come to bring her down. Now the hunter is the hunted, and Agent 3 must race to save one more life: her own.
1. Chapter 1

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 **Monday, 10:12 a.m.** **  
** **Calamari County**

Death was coming. It had been coming since the day he was born, of course, but now it was upon him. Death had its bony fingers wrapped around his frail, gaunt body and had no intentions of letting go. But that didn't bother him. This was the natural progression of things. He had lived a long, fulfilling life—much longer than most. He had seen things and learned things that few others had. He had made sacrifices in the service of his people. He had no regrets. Almost.

Admiral of the Fleet Craig Cuttlefish was an accomplished man, if a mostly forgotten one. He had chosen to die at home, surrounded by his granddaughter and great-grandchildren. His new, honorary rank of Admiral, bestowed upon him just days before, was a nice nod to the bygone days of his naval career, even if Admiral Cuttlefish didn't quite have the same ring as _Captain_ Cuttlefish. But such was life. The doctors had tried to talk him into surgery and radiation therapy, but Cuttlefish had declined. He was simply too old, and he would never recover from the operation. He also did not want Marie to put her life on hold just to watch him wither away. He wanted to die in privacy, with his mind and dignity intact.

A hospital bed had been moved into the study on the first floor of his home. The dovetail cabin sat on two wooded acres of Calamari County, overlooking the Amida River as it fed into the ocean. Cuttlefish had spent the latter half of his career in the mountains, but at heart, he was a man of the sea. He loved the waters. In the spring, the river would be overflowing, rushing over the rocks, but now, in the fall, it was but a trickle. Cuttlefish sat in his favorite leather armchair, looking admiringly out the window at the beautiful fall colors. Vibrant reds, yellows, and greens topped rhythmically ebbing blues, forming a painterly scene out of the falling leaves. How appropriate it was to die at this time of the year, he thought.

Marie, one of his two granddaughters, was taking care of him and planned to stay until the end. Her own children had been out three weekends before to spend time with Great-Grandpa before he was too far gone to enjoy it. The oldest was only nine. The weekend was painful but necessary, and there had been a lot of tears.

Today, Marie was helping him get the paperwork in order. Cuttlefish wanted to sort everything out before he passed. The great-grandkids were taken care of, with money set aside for college and graduate school if they chose, but nothing else. There would be no sports cars or fancy boats, no unnecessary, hedonistic luxuries. The house itself would easily fetch a cool million—not bad considering that he had purchased the land for just spare change eighty years ago. And there were other investments, too, of course. Marie would get the bulk of the estate, and he knew she would use the money wisely. He didn't have to worry about her.

What did worry Craig Cuttlefish was the NSS. Things were not in order, and they were beginning to show signs of being worse than he had thought. No one outside of Cuttlefish's family had been allowed to look behind the curtain he had pulled across his life. There was one exception, however, and that was Agent 3. Cuttlefish thought of her as his third granddaughter. She was, he believed, the most talented and crucially important person working for the New Squidbeak Splatoon, and Cuttlefish had left her in charge. That made Agent 3 a big target for a lot of people, and Cuttlefish was worried that when he was gone, his enemies would do their best to destroy her.

And at the top of his list of enemies was his other granddaughter, Callie Cuttlefish.

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* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Back again, doing what I always do! I realized that my other fic doesn't give me enough latitude to try everything that I want to try, so here's something different.

Although the single-player mode of Splatoon 2 now ends with Callie coming to Tentakeel Outpost, the game wasn't always like that. Before a certain patch, Callie seemingly disappeared. She wouldn't show up post-game next to the shack. You'd free her from Octavio, you'd hear the Squid Sisters sing together, and then she'd be gone. You could fight the final boss again to see her, and Marie would get an extra quip about how Callie is "difficult to keep track of" after you beat the game once, but beyond that Callie was essentially just a piece of decoration who showed up for one boss fight.

My other stories have already explored a possible (if highly unlikely) explanation for this. What if Callie wasn't brainwashed? What if Callie had willingly joined the Octarians? What if she even stayed behind in Octo Canyon (after Agent 4's adventure) to help the Octarians overcome their societal problems? The very idea intrigued me, so I started writing. Pretty soon, I had several stories that took place in this same alternate universe where Callie was a turncoat.

This particular story is part of that canon, and it takes place a decade after Octo Expansion. That being said, _Insurmountable_ is intended to be read as a standalone work. I will make only minimal references to my other stories and otherwise pretend as if they do not exist. You will not need to read anything else to enjoy the story, though I will reference dialogue and events from the two Splatoon games and the DLC.


	2. Chapter 2

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 **Tuesday, 4:58 a.m.  
Razorback Falls**

Cole Leoidea did not sleep well that night. After tossing and turning for most of it, the Inkling gave up on sleep and got out of bed just before five. His mind refused to shut down, and his body was screaming for exercise. So, he left his family's two-story farmhouse and went for a run.

He had no problem loosening up in the humid morning air, and his shoes pounded on the gravel shoulder of the country road at a pace that was closer to a sprint than a jog. Sweat poured down his shirtless chest, and he could literally feel the toxins leaving his body. There was nothing quite as refreshing as a good run.

When he reached the halfway point, he felt good. The former Agent 4 looked down at his watch and noted the split. He had maintained a solid, five-minute pace despite his lack of sleep. He thought about Agent 3 and wondered what she was doing. The city suited her. She really had made it big, just as she had promised all those years ago. She was doing work that made good use of her unique skill set, and she was making a lot of money. More than she would ever need. But at what cost?

The second half of the run didn't go so well—sleep deprivation finally hit him, and it hit him hard. Cole's energy waned, and his splits steadily worsened to the point where his third mile was a full minute off his usual pace. As was his habit, he sprinted to the finish line at his driveway and continued past it for about fifty meters, slowing to a jog and keeping his hands clasped behind his head, elbows up. That let him breathe better. He walked back up the long driveway cursing himself. He was starting to slip. If Agent 3 knew, she would chew him out.

Back in the house, he toweled himself off, put on a shirt, and made a tall cup of coffee with a touch of milk and sugar. As he prepared a modest breakfast of eggs and toast, he thought about how lucky he was. Life was good on the farm. He had his two younger brothers to help him out, as well as the two aging parents who had raised them firmly but fairly. Razorback Falls was beautiful if a bit hot, and a good place to escape from all the hustle and bustle of the city. This was home, after all.

He never understood why Agent 3 liked the city so much. Cole honestly hated visiting Inkopolis, but if that was what he had to do in order to see his best friend, then so be it. She came back every other visit, as per their arrangement, so it wasn't all bad, but he knew that it was harder for her to come see him than it was for him to go see her. Cole had a lot of free time working on the family farm, whereas she had a lot of responsibilities working for the NSS.

Something told him that, in the coming weeks, Agent 3 would have a lot more than just routine responsibilities on her hands, but he couldn't quite put a finger on why. Perhaps he was simply tired and cranky, Cole decided with a yawn. He'd have to take it easy today.

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 **Tuesday, 5:30 a.m.  
Triggerfish Lake**

Agent 3 stared through the one-way mirror into the dank, subterranean cement chamber. On the other side was a middle-aged Octoling, wearing nothing but his boxers and sitting handcuffed to a tiny, uncomfortable-looking chair. A single light bulb hung from the ceiling, dangling mere inches above his head. The stark glare of the light combined with his state of near-total exhaustion caused the Octoling's head to droop forward, leaving his chin resting on his chest. He was dangerously close to losing his balance and toppling over.

Agent 3 checked the time on her phone. She was running out of both time and patience. She would prefer to shoot this piece of Octarian refuse and get it over with, but the present situation was more complicated than that. She needed him to talk, which was the whole point of coming here. They all talked eventually, of course—that wasn't the problem. The trick was to get them to tell you the truth. This was was no exception, but so far, he was sticking to his story, a story Agent 3 knew to be an outright lie.

The NSS agent hated coming to this place. It made her skin crawl. It had all the charm of a hospital without the IV tubes and doctors stuffed into their big, white suits. It was a place intentionally designed to starve the mind of stimuli. Only a handful of people knew about the facility—it was so secret that it didn't even have a name.

It was off the books, never listed even in the black-intelligence budgets submitted in secret to the government. The facility was a relic from the days of the Great Turf War, located near Camp Triggerfish, and it looked like all the other big farmhouses dotting the wooded countryside thereabouts. Situated on sixty-two rolling acres, the place had been purchased by the NSS nearly half a century ago, at a time when the New Squidbeak Splatoon was given far more latitude and discretion than it was today.

This was one of several sites where the NSS debriefed its defectors, its traitors, and its other in-house problems. Very nasty things had been done to people in this crypt—not a pleasant place, but a necessary evil in a world chock-full of sadistic bastards and misguided, brutal individuals. This was something that Agent 3 was more than aware of, but that didn't mean that she liked it. She was neither delicate nor squeamish. She had killed more people than she could even attempt to count, and she had employed her craft in a variety of imaginative ways that spoke to the sheer depth of her skill. And still, she didn't like this place.

Agent 3 was a modern-day _assassin_ who lived in a civilized land where such a term could never be used openly. Hers was a city-state that loved to distinguish itself from the less refined nations of the world, a republic that celebrated individual expression and creative freedom, a place that would never tolerate the open recruiting, training, or deployment of one of its own citizens for the specific purpose of killing. But an assassin was exactly who Agent 3 was. She was an assassin, conveniently called an _agent_ so as to not offend the sensibilities of the cultured people who occupied the centers of power in Inkopolis.

If those very people knew of the existence of this facility, they would fly into an indignant rage that would result in the partial or near-complete destruction of the NSS. Under their narrow definition, the Inkopolis elite would call this place a torture chamber. Agent 3, however, knew what real torture was, and it definitely wasn't this. This was coercion, it was sensory deprivation, it was interrogation—not real torture.

Real torture rarely got to the truth. Real torture was causing someone so much unthinkable pain that they begged to be killed. Most prisoners would then say or do almost anything to stop the pain, sign any confession, invent terrorist plots that didn't exist, and even turn on their own families. Agent 3 was a practical woman, however, and the middle-aged prisoner sitting cuffed to the tiny chair on the other side of the glass knew firsthand what real torture was. The organization he worked for was notorious for its treatment of its prisoners. The vile bastard definitely deserved a good beating, but there were other things to consider right now.

Lives were at stake. Two NSS agents were already dead, thanks to the Octoling in the other room, and many more lives hung in the balance. Something big was in the works, and if Agent 3 didn't find out what it was, then hundreds and perhaps thousands of innocent people would die.

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	3. Chapter 3

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The door to the observation room opened, and another woman entered. She walked up to the window, looking at the handcuffed prisoner with her grey, deep-set eyes. There was a certain detachment with the way the woman carried herself. Her puffy, dark pink hair made her look taller than she really was, and she wore an all-black uniform with armored plates—standard Octarian military garb. She actually owned two identical sets of the outfit, and in an effort to keep her subject off-balance, it was the only thing she had worn in front of the prisoner since his arrival three days ago. The outfit was carefully chosen to convey a sense of rank and superiority.

Everyone simply called the woman "Eight." Fluent in many languages, Eight was one of the NSS's best interrogators. She had controlled every detail of every second of her subject's incarceration. Every little noise, variation in temperature, and morsel of food had been choreographed by her hand. The goal with this particular subject, as with any subject, was to get him to talk. The first step had been to isolate him and strip him of all sense of time and place by immersing him in a world of sensory deprivation until he craved stimuli. Eight would then throw the prisoner a lifeline—she would begin a dialogue. She would get the man to talk, not even to divulge secrets, at least not at first. She started with simple conversations. The secrets would come later. To do the job thoroughly and properly took a great deal of time and patience, but those were luxuries that the NSS did not possess.

Turning to Agent 3, Eight said in the Inkling language, "It shouldn't be much longer."

"I sure as hell hope not," came the response. Agent 3 was many things, but patient was not one of them.

Eight smiled, revealing two rows of sharp, pointed teeth. She had a great respect for the legendary NSS agent. They had first met under less-than-fortunate circumstances, and they had even tried to kill each other on multiple occasions. But now, the two of them were fighting together on the frontlines in a war without boundaries. For Agent 3, it was about protecting innocents against danger. For Eight, it was about saving her homeland and her people from falling to hatred and fear.

Eight checked her watch and asked, "Ready, Natalie?"

Agent 3 nodded, taking another look at the exhausted, bound man. Without telling anyone else at headquarters, Agent 3 had hired a team of freelancers to snatch him, a high-ranking colonel in the Octarian military with possible connections to terrorists. The brutal murders of two NSS agents, along with a growing fear that the remains of Octavio's terrorist cells had reconstituted themselves, gave Agent 3 the impetus to take action without authorization.

Eight pointed at their prisoner as he began to nod off. "He's going to fall over any second now. You sure you want to go forward with this?" Eight crossed her arms. "If we wait another day or two, I'm confident I can get him to talk."

Agent 3 shook her head and answered firmly, "My patience has done run dry. If you ain't gonna get him to talk today, then I will."

Eight nodded thoughtfully. She was not opposed to using the good cop, bad cop technique of interrogation. On the right subject, the results could be quite satisfactory.

"All right," she said. "When I get up and leave, that's your cue."

Agent 3 acknowledged the plan and kept her eyes on the bound prisoner as Eight left the room. The prisoner had no idea how long he had been here, how long he had been in the hands of his captors, or who his captors even were. He had no idea where he was, either. He only heard one woman speak, and that was Eight, a fellow Octarian. So, he wrongly assumed that he was being held in his own homeland, probably by the Octarian military itself. He was secure in the notion that his kinsmen would take pity on him and eventually let him go.

As Eight had predicted, the officer had finally dozed off long enough to lose his balance and topple over. He hit the floor hard but didn't bother attempting to get up. He knew it would be impossible to do so.

Eight entered the room with two Octarian assistants. While they righted the prisoner, Eight pulled up a chair and told her assistants to remove the man's restraints. When the prisoner was free to move his arms and legs, Eight handed him a glass of water. The two assistants went and stood in the shadows by the door, just in case they might be needed.

"Now then," Eight spoke to the prisoner in their native tongue, "Would you like to start telling me the truth?"

The nearly-naked man glared at his interrogator with bloodshot eyes. "I _have_ been telling you the truth. I'm not a supporter of terrorists. I deal with them only because it's my job to keep tabs on them."

"You know that Director Callie Cuttlefish has made it very clear," Eight said, referring to the Octarian military director. "We are to stop supporting such causes." Eight had maintained the guise of being a fellow officer from the moment she'd met the prisoner.

"I keep telling you," the prisoner replied firmly. "The only reason I still meet with my contacts is to keep tabs on them!"

"And you're still sympathetic to their cause, right?"

"Yes—I mean no. I'm not sympathetic to their cause."

Eight smiled. "I believe that Inkopolis is a sinful city." She tilted her head. "Do you not believe in the moral superiority of the Octarians? Don't you think your contacts have the right idea?"

The question was a metaphorical slap to the face. "Of course I—no, I do not!" he blurted indignantly. "I am an officer in the military, and I have nothing to do with those terrorist cells. I know where my allegiance lies."

"I'm sure you do," said a skeptical Eight. "The problem is that _I_ do not know where your allegiance lies, and I am running out of patience." There was no malice in her voice, only regret.

The other Octoling buried his face in his hands and shook his head. "I don't know what to say. I'm not who you think I am." He lifted his head and stared past the bright light at his interrogator. His eyes were glassy and pleading. "Ask my superiors. Ask the General. He'll tell you I was just following orders."

Eight shook her head. "Your superiors have forsaken you. You are nothing but a plague to them. They claim to know very little about what you've been up to."

"Liar!" spat the prisoner.

This was exactly what Eight was after. Uncontrollable mood swings. Desperate and pleading one second and then angry and antagonistic the next. It made the bad cop's entrance easier to justify. Raising her hands in surrender, Eight's expression spoke of a sad resolve that she could do no more. "I've been very patient with you, and all you do is reward me with more lies and insults."

"I'm telling you the truth!"

Eight gave him an almost maternal stare. "Wouldn't you say that I've been kind to you?"

Exhaustion caused the prisoner to stare back numbly. He nodded slowly.

"Have I laid a hand on you since you've been here?"

The man shook his head reluctantly.

"Well, that's about to change." This was the first time Eight had threatened violence, either implicitly or explicitly. Their conversations up until now had consisted of going over the same well-rehearsed story, with the prisoner occasionally slipping up on a few details but mostly holding his ground.

Eight studied her subject intently and said, "There's someone here who'd like to see you."

The prisoner looked up, his eyes glimmering with hope.

"No," Eight said, shaking her head and laughing ominously. She stood up, preparing to leave. "I don't think you want to see her. In fact, she's probably the last person you want to see right now. She is someone who I cannot control, someone who knows for a fact that you are a liar."

"I am telling you the truth!" the officer shrieked and reached out for his interrogator's arm.

Eight caught his wrist and twisted it with just enough pressure to send a clear message. She looked down at his wide, pleading eyes and said, "You had ample opportunity to tell me the truth, but you chose not to. Your life is now out of my hands." With that, Eight released the man's wrist and exited the room.

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	4. Chapter 4

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Agent 3 did not enter right away. Eight told her that it was best to let the tension build. They watched through the one-way mirror as the man began nervously pacing back and forth along the far wall. He grew more agitated by the minute, until finally the bright overhead lights came on and Agent 3 entered the room.

The look on his face was at first one of disbelief, then dawning horror. The arrival of the famous NSS agent changed everything. Things began to fall into place, and the Octoling instantly knew he was in much more trouble than he could have ever imagined.

"Y-you're Natalie Tilus," he stammered in Octarian. "Y-you're that—"

"Sit!" Agent 3 barked.

He did so without hesitation. Agent 3 grabbed a small wooden table by the wall and dragged it over, placing it in front of the man. Looking up at the two assistants, she spoke in Inkling, "I can handle him by myself."

As the assistants left, Agent 3 laid a letter-sized envelope on the table and slowly took off her jacket, revealing her holstered gun. She draped the jacket over the back of the chair and stood up to her admittedly unimpressive height of five foot two.

"So you know who I am?" she asked the Octarian officer in his own language.

He nodded and swallowed nervously as Agent 3 brushed her orange hair back with one hand. She retrieved two photos from within the envelope and laid them on the table. "What about these guys? Do you know who _they_ are?" she asked, rolling up her long, black sleeves.

The Octoling stared sadly at the photos. He knew exactly who the two people were, but he also knew that it was exceedingly dangerous to admit such a thing. He had been on the giving end of enough interrogations to know that he had to stay the course and stick with his story. Slowly, he shook his head and said, "No."

Even though Agent 3 anticipated the answer, it still infuriated her. She slapped her right hand on the table and brought her left around with blinding speed, striking the prisoner so hard she knocked him out of his chair. He went sprawling across the floor.

" _Wrong answer!_ " Agent 3 yelled as she stepped around the table, her closed fist raised and ready to come down on the Octoling like a sledgehammer.

The prisoner lay stunned on the floor. It was the first time one of his captors had touched him. Panic set in and threw his hands up to block the blow. "All right, all right, I know who they are, but I had nothing to do with their deaths."

Agent 3 leaned forward and grabbed him by the throat. Even though she was several inches shorter and significantly less heavy than the Octoling, she yanked him off the floor and slammed him against the wall like he was a ragdoll.

"Do you want to live or die?" she whispered menacingly.

The officer looked at her with honest confusion on his face, so Agent 3 repeated the question, this time screaming it directly into his ear. " _DO YOU WANT TO LIVE OR DIE?!_ "

He croaked his answer. "...L-live…"

Agent 3 threw him back toward the table and shouted, "Then sit down and look at those photos!" Then, she circled behind her prisoner, fists clenched and face flushed with anger. "I am only going to ask you one time! I know more about you than you could possibly imagine!" She pointed to the two black-and-white photos. "Did you have any hand, either directly or indirectly, in the _murder_ of these two NSS employees?"

This time, the Octoling brought his hands up before he answered. "No." His eyes were wide with terror as he scrambled to come up with an answer, any answer, that would keep this angry Inkling at bay. "I-I don't think so."

"You do not think so," she mocked. It was better than an outright denial, Agent 3 thought to herself. "I think you can do better than that."

"I d-don't know…" he said nervously. "This is a dangerous part of the world. People disappear all the time when Inkopolis gets involved."

"Yeah, like you, you stupid piece of crap." Agent 3 said. She turned her neck toward the ceiling and yelled, "Play cut one!"

A second later, the Octarian officer's own voice came over the loudspeaker system. The tape was part of a phone call placed by the Octoling to an unknown person, and he was requesting a meeting. When the short recording was over, Agent 3 asked for the second cut to be played. It was this second recording of the same two voices and its references to some sort of big event in the near future that had chilled Agent 3 to the bone.

She grabbed another photo from the envelope and let it fall into the Octoling's lap. "Recognize this?"

The prisoner looked at the photo of himself getting breakfast with a well-known, high-ranking leader of a terrorist cell. The surveillance photo clearly showed the faces of the Octarian officer and the late Octavio's grandson—the most wanted criminal in Inkopolis. The prisoner remembered the meeting well, and as he listened to the recorded audio of their conversation, he suddenly felt nauseous.

As the voices played from the speakers, Agent 3 carefully placed three small photos on the table in a very deliberate fashion. One was of an Inkling infant. The other two were of older children. "Any idea who _they_ are?" she asked.

The man shook his head nervously.

Agent 3 sighed. "These are the children of the two men you killed." She let her words hang in the air uncomfortably so that the reality of what he had done could sink in. After a pause, she placed five more black-and-white surveillance photographs on the table in the same manner as before. Each picture cleanly framed the cute little face of one of the Octarian officer's own five daughters. Agent 3 stared down her prisoner and watched in silence as he began to weep.

Through sniffles and sobs, he pleaded, "Please, I beg of you. Please. Don't do anything to my children. This is my fault, not theirs..."

Agent 3's face twisted in disgust. "I do not kill children, you piece of shit." She tapped the photos of the three Inkling children. "They will never see their fathers again." Then, she began circling around the table once more. "Look at their _faces!_ " she shrieked. "Tell me why _your_ kids should ever see you again!"

The man fingered the photos of his little daughters and began sobbing uncontrollably. As he continued to weep, Agent 3 drew her gun from its holster and began screwing into place a thick, black silencer. With the silencer attached to her Hero Shot, she extended the weapon and grabbed the well-oiled slide, pulling it back and letting it slam forward with a resounding clang. A round was now chambered.

Agent 3 pointed the gun at his head and said, "If you ever want to see your children again, then you need to tell me everything you know. Cooperate, and I can promise that no harm will come to you or your family. But if at any point I find out that you are lying to me, then the deal is off. Believe me, I have wanted to blow your brains out for three damn days."

She flicked the safety off and thumbed the hammer all the way back into the cocked position. "So what will you choose? Do you want to work for me and see your girls grow up? Or do you want to die?"

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	5. Chapter 5

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 **Tuesday, 8:15 a.m.  
Inkopolis**

"Where the hell is Natalie Tilus?"

The question was tossed out like a torpedo aimed at an enemy position. It flew down the long, shiny mahogany conference table, striking fear in all. Eyes were averted, a few throats were cleared, and one man was actually smart enough to get up and head for the door. One by one, though, everyone turned to the woman sitting at the opposite end of the table. As the manager of the NSS, she was at least partially responsible for Agent 3.

Marie Cuttlefish looked down the length of the ridiculously long table at her questioner. He was a lawyer, of course. They were always lawyers. Marie eyed the antagonist coolly. Over the last two weeks, she'd heard a steady stream of complaints about the man. Watching him operate, she wondered how two parents could have so thoroughly failed to equip their child with the most basic of manners.

Darian Nyde was the civil liberties officer of the Department of Protection and Counterterrorism and a constant thorn in Marie's side. He was a fairly attractive individual, at least until he opened his mouth, at which point he became decidedly less so. His entire agency had been created to replace the NSS, appeasing the crowd that felt Inkopolis had become a police state. Before taking the post, Nyde had spent a decade as a prosecutor working for the city's legal arm.

Marie's face remained unimpressed. She had learned the espionage business under her grandfather, a living Great Turf War legend. Like her mentor, she was widely known to be an unflappable player; respected by most, despised by a few, and feared by more than she realized. All of that went with the job, of course. She headed the NSS, and it was easy for people to imagine a hidden, sinister side to an otherwise classy and pleasant former pop idol.

Marie stared down Darian Nyde and told herself to remain calm. Nyde was too young to be throwing his weight around and old enough to know better. Marie had seen plenty of men and women like him come and go over the years. If it weren't for Old Cuttlefish's declining health, Nyde would have stood no chance of getting under her skin. But the current situation was stressful, to say the least. Issues of family, national security, and trust were coming to a head.

The thing was, politicians, business magnates, and lobbyists alike were potential threats to the city's overall safety. They were all people who could be tempted by the allure of personal gain and selfish desire, people who might put themselves above the law and above the lives of their neighbors. Issues like national security meant nothing to these individuals when there was an opportunity to climb. Darian Nyde was just another one of these individuals.

"This is not a difficult question," Nyde pressed. His suit coat was off, his tie loose, and his white shirt sleeves rolled up.

Marie's brow furrowed as if she were studying a strange insect. "Ms. Tilus," she said in an even tone, "is unavailable."

"Unavailable." Nyde seemed to contemplate the word. "That's pretty vague."

"Not really."

"I beg to differ." The DPC officer paused, scribbled a note to himself, looked directly at Marie, and asked, "Where is she?"

It was obvious to Marie that Nyde had spent a fair amount of time strutting in front of juries. Surely he didn't expect she would simply _announce_ the location of her top agent to some DPC watchdog. Feeling a tinge of anger over the man's arrogance, Marie said, "Where and what Tilus is doing is none of your business."

"I couldn't disagree more, Miss Cuttlefish."

Despite the warnings by her legal counsel, Marie was shocked by his arrogance. She took off her reading glasses. "It's Manager Cuttlefish, Mr. Nyde, or Captain Cuttlefish, if you'd prefer." Having put her due time into the agency, Marie had rightfully earned the title once held by her grandfather.

A cocky, self-satisfied grin spread across Nyde's face. "Captain, manager, either one works for me," he said in a more pleasant tone.

Marie did not flinch. She made no effort to respond in any way. Her thoughts headed down an unconventional path, exploring the man's potential weaknesses, wondering how he would react. Someone like him would have never been in the field before. Never been seriously hurt.

"Back to Tilus, if we could." Nyde tapped his pen on his yellow legal pad as if to refocus the conversation. "I've been asking to see her for more than a month, and frankly, I'm running out of patience."

"Ms. Tilus is very busy."

"Aren't we all, Madam Manager."

"Some more than others," she said, a touch of edge creeping into her voice.

Nyde did not miss the change in tone. He nodded to Marie, as if to say _game on_ , then asked, "Where _is_ she?"

"Maybe you're new to Inkopolis, but surely you are aware that much of what my agency handles is classified."

"So you won't even tell me if she's in the city?"

"Not unless you can prove to me that you have somehow miraculously received a security clearance that is far above your pay grade." It was a not-so-subtle reminder to Nyde that in the power structure of the city's government, the NSS still had a lot of clout. He was more than a few rungs underneath her.

Nyde clicked his pen shut, stuffed it in his shirt pocket, and closed his leather briefing folder. "I can play hardball as well as anyone, Captain Cuttlefish." He stood and snatched his suit coat from the back of his chair. "This is my last warning. If Natalie Tilus is not standing in my office a week from today, I can promise you that I will make your life miserable."

Marie once again felt anger rushing to the surface. Part of her wanted to unleash it and teach this egocentric idiot a lesson, but another part of her held her back. Intuition warned her that no matter how satisfying it might feel, it would be a mistake. She watched him march to the door and then stop.

"One other thing," Nyde said as he flipped open his briefing folder and scanned his notes. "You have an Octoling named _Eight_ who works for you."

Marie returned his stare, wondering if he had simply made a statement or was asking a question.

"I want her in my office Wednesday morning. If she isn't there, I'll send the police for her." Nyde closed his folder and was gone.

One by one, the other people seated at the table turned to look at Marie. She ignored them, her gaze fixed on the open doorway. The man had just openly threatened the manager of the most powerful spy organization in the world, which either meant that he was insane or that he had something on her. The fact that he had brought up Agent 3 was not all that surprising. People had been coming after Natalie for years, but Eight was another story. Old Cuttlefish had taken great care to keep the Octarian defector under the radar. Eight was increasingly handling some of the NSS's most delicate operations.

Marie's assistant leaned over and whispered in her ear, "I just got a text from the office. We need to get you out of here."

Marie shot her assistant a concerned look. Was there a possible terrorist attack? It was not uncommon for high-ranking government officials to be taken out of the city at first whisper of trouble. In recent years, the practice had slowed down, but that was now balanced by fresh intel that pointed to something big.

"That thing," the assistant whispered, "I think it just started. The thing by Triggerfish Lake. You don't want to have a conversation about it in this building, Captain."

Marie looked around the DPC conference room while she thought of Agent 3 and Eight. She knew what they were up to, and she hoped that they were almost done. She had signed off on it herself. Marie motioned for her assistant to lead the way and politely ignored several of the other attendees who wanted to have a word with her.

As they reached the elevators, her thoughts returned to a feeling that had been nagging her. Old Cuttlefish had warned her that someone in the ranks of the NSS might be leaking highly classified information. Accusations were appearing in the press that were far too close to the truth. The DPC was becoming increasingly antagonistic, and they were overstepping their boundaries more and more just to get in the way of the NSS. On top of everything else, now she had to deal with this power-hungry fool who was trying to make a name for himself. A sense of foreboding crept over her, like a looming storm on a humid day.

 **¤~§~¤~§~¤~§~¤**


	6. Hiatus

Hello!

 _Insurmountable_ is going on an indefinite hiatus because I no longer have the motivation to continue writing it. I had a distinct style in mind but no real overarching plot. I had pushed out some really, really polished chunks of writing that I didn't know what to do with. It was exhausting, unrewarding, and ultimately not something I wanted to continue. I apologize for leaving an unfinished story out in the wild like this—I always hated when stories were abandoned—but at least I hope I can provide closure with this notice.

Thank you to everyone who read my work and provided feedback. I really appreciated all the comments. Double thank you to the communities that took me, a total stranger, under their wing. My heart goes out to Wolf, C, Miit, Ned, Jasmine, Smoov, Ryan, Lonnie, Dac, Inky, Ghost, Tuck, Rusty, Zoey, Nyx, Chris, Phoenix, Wes, and everyone else who I got to meet. I hope that happiness finds its way to you.

Cheers,  
慰搂  
"dbluewillow"


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